


The Rock of Silence

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 09:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months post 513</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rock of Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2009

_“Hello darkness, my old friend, I've come to talk with you again.”_ _©P.Simon_

Familiar with every nuance and creak of the metal door, Brian wearily tugged it open and slammed it shut with bang. As if protesting the inconsiderate treatment, the clanging cry bounced off the walls of the loft.

For the past six months, he opened it the same way, with suppressed anticipation, and wondered if this was the day, the day he’d find Justin waiting for him. It hadn’t happened yet.

His fingers reflexively clenched and unclenched around the handle of his briefcase as he glanced around the massive space. Suddenly aware of its considerable size and overall vastness, he smirked. He always was a size queen, so why shouldn’t it carry over to other areas of his life? And yet, when did it get this big, this hollow, this _empty_?

He walked toward the bedroom. The measured stride of his Prada shoes ricocheted off the walls and floors like rapid-fire bullets, striking his heart with unerring accuracy. They were so intent on their target, he could taste burnt gunpowder on his tongue, residue of decisions and choices that would forever haunt him. Quiet desperation wrapped around his bones with the insidious familiarity of an unwelcome friend.

                                                    _“Because a vision softly creeping left its seeds while I was sleeping  
                                                            And the vision that was planted in my brain still remains within the sound of silence.”_

In his heart and in his gut, he knew Justin had to go to New York. He had to become his own person, make his own way without him. When, _if_ he returned, it would be because he wanted to, not because he needed to.

He bristled when Justin said he pushed him to go. He would never, could never— Well, in all honesty, maybe he did. But there was no fucking way he could wake up twenty years down the road, entwined in the scent of freshly shampooed blond hair, and see that look in the blue eyes, the “what if” and “if only” look. Even worse, if it was there because of him. He would rather die. If that was being selfish, so be it.

On the occasions when he and Beam strengthened their friendship, he both cursed and worshipped the night he met Justin Taylor. _Justin,_ who looked like a little boy lost ... _Justin,_ with his blond hair a golden halo ... _Justin,_ his face a portrait of hesitation and lust ... _Justin,_ innocent as sin. He was so open and naked for everyone to see, for anyone to use, he might as well have been wearing a sign, I’M A VIRGIN.

 _“In restless dreams I walked alone, narrow streets of cobblestone. 'Neath the halo of a street lamp, I turn my collar to the cold and damp  
                When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light that split the night and touched the sound of silence.”_

He shuddered during these contemplative sessions, needing copious amounts of liquor to halt the unimaginable scenarios that flooded his mind. How that evening could have ended. Anything could have happened. Anything,

His pain was often followed by an illogical anger directed at one person, himself. He’d been careful for so long, meticulously crafting and cultivating his facade. And in one night, bathed in the glow of a street lamp, his hard work crumbled, catapulting him heart first into the human race. He hated it.

_                                                   “I’ve built walls, a fortress deep and mighty that none may penetrate. I am a rock. I am an island.”  _

He frequently woke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat from his nightmares. Shredding his discipline and testing his resolve not to influence or interfere, they threatened to bring him to his knees and beg Justin to return. He never believed it could hurt like this, as if a part of him was gone. But it wasn’t _as if—_ it simply was.

Having showered and changed into the faded jeans from that first night five years ago, he sagged to the hardwood floor and leaned against the sofa. With his eyes heavy from lack of sleep and too much work, he allowed himself a brief luxury and closed them for a moment. He should have known better. They immediately flew open, fighting against the visions that taunted and teased.

He tugged at his lower lip, biting it between his teeth, the physical pain a welcome diversion from the emotional ache that weighed him down like an albatross around his neck. He grabbed his old friend, the bottle, to join him once again in his trip down memory lane. After lighting a joint, he stared as the curling vine of smoke disappeared into nothingness.

And then he did something he promised, _vowed_ he would never do again as his hand reached up—and wiped the tears away.

_                                                                            “And a rock feels no pain...And an island never cries.” _

 


End file.
